Night and Day
by Le Cosmonaute
Summary: A series of Charlie/Carlisle drabbles with no particular theme. Rating ranges from K-T so far.
1. Chapter 1

This wasn't why he had come over. He had only dropped by, having "happened to be in the neighbourhood" (which, really, was an idiotic excuse, because there was _nothing_ around the Cullen house for miles), to ask about that boy. That boy that would not, could not be kept away from his Bella. It was a "and while I'm here" sort of thing, that's all. He didn't spend a good amount of time each day thinking of ways he could keep them apart without causing his daughter too much pain. He had better things to think about.

Like Carlisle Cullen's hands. They were, after all, what had landed him in this mess. The doctor had come to the door, and Charlie remembered being stupidly shocked not to see him in a lab coat and tie. Of course he wouldn't be wearing his work clothes at home… He had been informed that Esme and just about everyone else was out of the house, leaving Carlisle a rare day alone. Maybe there had been an invitation in that. Maybe Charlie had just imagined it. Maybe he would pretend he hadn't and just hope…

Charlie had quickly back-pedalled at that, insisting that he didn't want to be a nuisance, walking out the door again, but then Carlisle ("Really, there's no need to be so formal, especially outside of work. I assume you haven't come here for work?" though there hadn't been any question about it.) had caught his sleeve and smiled at him—they were just about the same height, though maybe Charlie was an inch taller, he couldn't tell—and asked him to stay and, well, how could he refuse…?

He had _tried_ to stay focussed, _tried_ to stick to the subject of Bella and _that boy_, but when Carlisle had laid a guiding hand on his shoulder, steering him towards the too-white parlour, gesturing for him to sit down, and looking so _graceful_ as he walked to another chair… He had foundered, wondering why he had come. To see Carlisle? No, but… that seemed to be just as good as whatever he had had planned…

And he had almost grasped it, thankful for the other man's complacent silence, when Carlisle had suddenly been next to him and he couldn't remember seeing the doctor get up and walk over, but there he was, a hand on his thigh, and those hands became the centre of his universe for some time after.

He had wondered, as those strangely cold hands had pushed him gently back on the couch, if they were really going to do this _here_, but before he could vocalise that, the thought was gone, replaced by incoherent approval in the form of embarrassing sounds that just _may_ have escaped his lips.

Those hands were running over bare skin now, so intense that Charlie didn't dwell on the cold touch of Carlisle's flesh nor the hardness of it. Everything was _feeling_, but in the deepest, most pleasurable sense of the word. The hands were everywhere, all over him, over him, under him, along his sides, within him, without him, caressing him, stroking him. Charlie simply… forgot how to think, forgot how to breathe, and with Carlisle's lips on his, how could he anyway?

Even though the doctor's skin was cold, everything was so _hot_ and he thought he'd just burn up, and he worried about the mark he'd leave on the white sofa, and he worried worried worried

But then Carlisle was _all over under in him_, and he was edging towards a drop, a sheer drop, and he clung to Carlisle for dear life, praying praying praying in his mind, out _loud_, oh God, was that his _voice_ that Carlisle wouldn't drop him.

Whispered reassurances…

_I've got you_

_I won't let you go_

_I've got you_

_Hold on_

_Don't let go_

_I've got you_

And they were getting close to the edge, closer closer closer, and he wondered how Carlisle wasn't _bleeding_ with how hard Charlie was digging his fingernails into the man's back, but oh it didn't matter, because THERE

They were falling, but it felt so good he never wanted to stop it had never been like this before.

xXxXx

It was an hour later that Charlie managed to reconnect and resolidify the goo that his bones had become. Carlisle walked him to the door, and when they got there, said nothing, did nothing, except and say, "I hope you'll be visiting more often. We don't see much of you up here. And say hi to Bella for me." And with a smile that left aftershocks coursing through Charlie's bloodstream, he disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

Charlie was not exactly averse to change… but he wasn't wholly in favour of it, either. Change was, he thought, usually bad—Renee divorcing him, Bella's first boyfriend, Bella's first boyfriend leaving, Bella's first boyfriend coming back. Charlie had long ago decided that change was just better avoided in general. Maybe it would only take one event to change his opinion, but so far that one event hadn't happened, and so Charlie avoided change as much as possible.

xXxXx

There was a time when it hadn't been awkward. A time when they'd just been two people working together, the cop and the doctor. Their jobs had a lot of common ground, especially in Forks where accidents were very common. And they had got on well, like any pair of colleagues should.

But then came the time when it had been awkward. All of a sudden, he was following the doctor out of the elevator on floor four when he had meant to go to floor six and not knowing whether he should shake hands when he left or jest say goodbye and leave it at that.

Suddenly he couldn't make small talk without becoming hyperaware of everything he did or said, without reddening, without getting flustered. It hadn't altered his job performance—yet. Charlie figured it was only a matter of time before something happened again and he became unable to work with Carlisle Cullen like a civilised human being.

Today he had stopped by to see Bella after she had fallen down a flight of stairs at school. Again. She'd only needed an arm cast, thank God, and so he'd reluctantly left her alone with the Cullen boy. He had followed Carlisle right out of the room like a little puppy; he could blame it on habit, he supposed. He was so used to leaving the deceased's family along with Carlisle, allowing them time to grieve, that when the doctor had started to leave, he had followed.

Realising his mistake halfway across the room, he had stopped dead in his tracks, but Carlisle had turned and given him what he swore could only be described as a "come-hither" look, and so he had gone thither as commanded.

When he pushed through the heavy swinging doors now, there was no one in sight.

"Carlisle?" he called out. He ventured forth a few steps, looking around. A couple of nurses, but no Carlisle. He was just walking at a normal pace when someone grabbed his arm and dragged him down a hallway.

The world spun and swam before righting itself, and now Charlie was pressed against the white, sterile walls a deserted hallway with someone holding down his shoulders. He focussed his eyes and stared at the doctor smirking at him. Their eyes were just about level, Carlisle being only an inch or two taller than Charlie. And the eyes were getting closer, until all he could see was amber, and it was his whole world until the doctor began to talk.

"What's changed, Charlie?" he asked, voice lower than Charlie had ever heard it drop. "What's changed?" he repeated in a mere murmur.

Charlie, stunned, didn't answer, couldn't answer. He wondered if he was even being asked the question or if Carlisle was posing it to himself. Carlisle's eyes flickered downwards, and whatever he saw made him step impossibly closer. Any closer, Charlie thought, and they would melt into one person…

Again, Carlisle's eyes were on his, and he asked permission with the tilt of his head, with the way his lips parted almost imperceptibly. Also almost imperceptibly was the nod Charlie gave him, the dropped glance, eyes fixed to the doctor's mouth, which moved forward until lips tentatively touched lips. Charlie sighed into the kiss. The awkwardness that had been building up for such a long time deflated completely, leaving the feeling of Carlisle kissing him. And now the time of awkwardness had meaning—it was a bridge between an easy colleague relationship, and _this_.

But something told him to shut up and kiss him back, and Charlie obeyed that part of his brain enough to part his lips and allow Carlisle to lip his tongue into his mouth, playing against Charlie's teeth teasingly. He didn't know what had happened, but his arms were around Carlisle's thin body and the doctor's hands were threaded deeply in his hair and they were tangled tightly up in each other, mouths moving against each other with a determined laziness.

His lungs were about to burst, but he wanted to keep going, wanted to stay wrapped up in Carlisle's arms. But the doctor pulled back, laughing softly.

"Everything," Charlie gasped.

"Hmm…?"

"Everything's changed," Charlie explained, but Carlisle shook his head.

"Just the opposite, dear Charlie," he murmured, kissing him once more before heading off and away, leaving Charlie confused, yet satisfied.

xXxXx

It wasn't until he had gotten home that Charlie thought about change again. Maybe… maybe some was good. Just maybe, some brought better things with them in the end.


	3. Chapter 3

**Discovery**

"So it's all right with you if Bella spends the night? She'll be sleeping in Alice's room, and Esme won't let them stay up too late," Carlisle said in a great rush, holding the phone to his ear and leaning casually on the counter of his kitchen—the one place he could be sure no one would be.

"As long as you and Esme are there…" Charlie said reluctantly. Carlisle took in an unnecessary breath and held it for a moment. At the doctor's silence, Charlie said, "You two are going to be there, right? You just said…"

"Yes," Carlisle said on the explosive exhale. Esme will be. I was thinking…"

"Yeah?"

"If you aren't doing anything…"

"_Yeah?_" Charlie prompted.

"I could come over," he said in another rush.

Charlie was sitting on the back porch, as far from his daughter's ears as he could get while still able to use the landline. He sat and stared into the damp woods, the sound of myriad birds chattering lost to him, as well as the rain that was starting up again. A sparrow hopped nearby his feet, and he stared at it with unseeing eyes.

"And do what, exactly?" he finally asked. "I assume you don't mean watch the game."

"There is no game on tonight," Carlisle said wit more glee than he probably should have.

"How do you know, you don't-"

Carlisle waited for the rest to sink in, for Charlie to make the connexion, wincing in anticipation.

"You suggested Bella stay over."

"I… might have mentioned it last Friday."

"You've been planning to have sex with me since last _Friday_?" Charlie suddenly looked around in paranoia, praying Bella's window was closed for once and that he hadn't been as loud as he thought.

"That's not a smart thing to shout," Carlisle scolded, thankful for a way to evade the question.

"It doesn't matter, I'm in the backyard." He was quiet again, and noticed that he had scared away the sparrow.

Carlisle opened his mouth to ask if he could come over, again, when Charlie said "_Friday_?" in an incredulous voice. Carlisle sighed, looking around the kitchen, going so far as to check the hallways, before he replied. There was no way his family couldn't have heard Charlie over the phone. _Someone_ must have. He only prayed it was Jasper. Jasper who never said anything ever.

"Yes," he finally whispered. "Take it as a compliment."

"I don't. I find it a little creepy, actually."

"I didn't mean it to be creepy."

"I know… but it still come off that way."

"I'll… try to be less creepy in the future."

"Please."

Both men sat in their respective secluded areas in silence, praying to the high heavens that no one had heard them.

"I guess," Charlie muttered.

"What?"

"I said, I guess. I guess you can come over."

Carlisle hung up the phone a minute later with a smile and went upstairs to his office. Jasper, who had, indeed, heard, went to Alice's room, hoping that she could distract him enough to erase the disturbing image his surrogate father had left in his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Discovery, continued**

**Here's the other half to chapter three, i.e., the morning after.**

There were at least three blankets between them, keeping Carlisle's skin from touching Charlie's with the exception of his arms encircling the other's waist loosely. Carlisle had been alternately reading and watching Charlie sleep since they had ceased in their not very quiet nocturnal activities. Carlisle found that the week and a day he had waited had been quite worth it, while Charlie had discovered that after some time of full-body contact, his senses grew numb to the cold of the doctor's skin, resulting in an enjoyable experience on the whole.

Carlisle was deep into his favourite book, _Pride and Prejudice_, just at the part where Lizzy Bennet is reading Mr. Darcy's letter explaining the whole situation with George Wickham, as well as that of her sister, Jane, and Charles Bingley, when he felt warm lips slowly inching up his neck. He squirmed a little, resisting the temptation to give in to the sensation now progressing to his jaw line.

"Wait," he mumbled. "I'm just getting to the good part." In the next instant, the book was out of his hands.

"_Pride and Prejudice?_ Really? This is Bella's favourite."

"Mine, too. Can I have it back?" he asked, pouting a little bit.

"Not unless you give me a kiss."

Leaning forward, he pecked Charlie on the lips and reached for the book again. Never mind that he practically had the passage memorised; he really wanted to read it. For some reason, he liked reading Jane Austen after sex. It was like a post-coital cigarette, only not detrimental to one's health, nor containing two hundred carcinogens.

"That's cheating!" Charlie exclaimed. "I mean a real kiss." Carlisle tried to grab the book in a sudden lunge, but only accomplished in landing himself on top of Charlie and bookless yet.

"You want a real kiss?" he asked, teasingly. Charlie nodded beneath him, stashing the book under the pillow behind his head before threading his hands through the other man's hair in an effort to bring him closer. And Carlisle had just leaned down, touching their lips together, gently at first, in contrast to their quick and sharp breaths, when the door opened and someone screamed.

xXxXx

It was odd, Charlie thought, that Bella would scream—she was rarely so expressive. But scream she did before fleeing the room. Carlisle had peeked over his shoulder in time to see Edward with an uncharacteristically startled look before the young vampire had raced down the stairs after his girlfriend who, in all likelihood, was scarred for life.

It was true that it was a pretty… shocking thing she had walked in on, though. He hoped, no matter how much he disliked the Edward kid, that he was helping her to… forget, or at least cope with what she had seen. Carlisle was getting dressed beside him now, wondering why the two had gotten over so early. Until Charlie had looked at the clock and seen that it was already going on a eleven.

"It's a good thing it's Sunday, then," Carlisle said, trying to look on the bright side.

"How am I going to explain this to her?" Charlie asked no one in particular, completely ignoring the bright side.

xXxXx

"Dad! Can't you do that… somewhere else?" Bella demanded, pacing the kitchen. Edward and Carlisle sat at the table, talking in their very fast way so as not to disturb the two humans while remaining in the room in case they were needed.

"Somewhere like where I won't walk in on you, maybe? And how could you hide this from me all these years? From Mom? Does she know? Is that why you're divorced?" Bella looked less like she was about to cry, more like she was about o explode, and Edward was sitting very tensely on his chair just in case.

"Is that why you let me stay over at the Cullens'? I thought it was weird that you were finally letting me out of the house. And to see Edward, no less. All because you wanted to… to sleep with his dad?"

Throughout this tirade, Charlie had been opening and closing his mouth, trying to speak. Now that she was silent, he leapt in before she could go off again.

"Bells, I thought you could use some getting out of the house. That's why I let you out of the house. And it was Carlisle's idea, anyway…" The doctor appeared not to have noticed that he had just been thrown under the bus and went on with the silent talking.

"Oh sure, blame the Cullens. Again. You blame them for everything!"

Edward stood suddenly, his stony face revealing nothing, waiting for Bella. With a sigh, Carlisle leaned his elbows on the table, looking a little relieved.

"That's not true, Bells, and-" and it usually is their fault. Hmm. Probably not what she wanted to hear.

"Just… get a room next time. God," Bella said with a sigh, storming out of the kitchen, vampire in tow.

The two men were silent, Carlisle looking at Charlie, Charlie at the linoleum floor. He could see the faint crack in the tile where he'd dropped a pot while attempting to cook.

"So…" Carlisle began. "Same time next Friday?"

**I know I've thanked whoever reviewed while logged in, but I'd like to thank my anonymous reviewer, as well, to whom I can't reply via ordinary channels. Your reviews brighten my inbox, every time.**


	5. The Chapter of Many Adverbs

Now I shall either plead temporary insanity or blame the very playful soundtrack of _No, No, Nanatte_. At least, those are my excuses for why on Earth this chapter came to be.

This takes place directly after Bella's three-day stint in Italy, because that's the only way I could figure this to be plausible.

It wasn't that Carlisle detested clinic duty; he just preferred dealing with people who were sick. In the clinic, chances were that only 65% of the people who walked in were _actually_ sick, and of that amount, more than half only had a cold. And it involved touching, which was a really good way to blow his cover. Thankfully the majority of people were too wiggy at the idea of being at the doctor's in the first place, so they expected creepy things like cold hands.

Today, however, things were looking worse than usual—he walked back in after his "lunch" break to find Charlie sitting up on the examination table, waiting as patiently as a man who had slept six hours over the course of three days could.

"Charlie! Is everything okay? What happened? What hurts?"

"Whoa, whoa, nothing hurts. That's not it. I just… I haven't slept since Bella ran off, and I really, really need to go to bed, so could I have some sleeping pills, or something? Something other than Advil PM, because I tried five of those, and they didn't work."

"Five?! In one hour?"

"Well the fist one didn't work, then the next one didn't, then the next one didn't, then the-"

"Okay, I get it." Carlisle walked over to him, frowning _very_ reproachfully. "There's a reason the instructions on the bottle say to take _one_ before bed. It increases your risk of heart attacks-" here he took out a stethoscope and, sliding it up under Charlie's untucked flannel shirt, listened carefully for a few seconds- "and stomach bleeding. And with the amount you and Billy drink, it further increases your risk of medical conditions that you _really_ don't want." He stopped in his reprimand, seeing that Charlie's eyes were more glazed than a Krispy Kreme donut.

Carlisle sighed and started to pull away when Charlie grabbed his wrist and tugged him closer.

"You know what I've always wanted to do? Charlie murmured, looking up at Carlisle _quite _suggestively.

"Do I want to know?" Carlisle tried to edge away, but despite being ridiculously tired, or maybe because of it, Charlie's grip was determined.

"Yes. Yes, I think so." Charlie licked his lips and drew Carlisle closer with his other hand until their lips met quite firmly. Momentarily given over to the physical sensation of Charlie snogging him, Carlisle remained very still until he reluctantly returned the snoggage while thinking that he hadn't locked the door.

With almighty force, Carlisle propelled himself back towards the door, breathing unnecessary breaths heavily.

"Have sex in a doctor's office."

"_What?!"_

"That's what I've always wanted to do."

"Well, we can't. This is an _office_, and people are waiting, and-"

"I've heard you say that 50% of people don't need any attention."

"45%"

"Whatever."

"No."

"What?"

"_No."_

"You know you want to." Charlie grinned, thinking that if he had just gotten _one_ extra hour of sleep, he could probably get up and pin Carlisle to the door. As it was, though, he just fell backwards onto the table, the paper crinkling under him.

Carlisle, upon seeing Charlie keel over in the throes of lust, walked over briskly (after having turned the lock), worried. The sound of crinkling paper reminded him of a massive cookie he had made once, not realising, that the dough got broken up. Bella had said that it was a delicious cookie, and Carlisle had wished very much that he could taste it.

So… if the cookie had been delicious, and Charlie was like a cookie, was Charlie delicious? Carlisle thought so. If only he could taste…

"See?"

"Hmm…?" Carlisle questioned, himself very distracted by how Charlie was lain out before him quite appealingly.

"You know you want to."

"Oh."

Charlie, with great effort, sat up again, grabbing Carlisle by the tie and pulling him back down as he fell once more. Sprawled on top of Charlie and finding it very, very hard to resist the human, he muttered excuses even then.

"We're in a clinic- you haven't had sleep- not thinking clearly- angry at Bella- I can't- I can't screw you on an examination table."

"Okay, I'll top this time," Charlie said, attempting to drag Carlisle into another kiss.

"What? No, that's not what i-"

Mercifully, Charlie succeeded at that moment, effectively putting an end to the lengthy nonsense issuing forth from Carlisle.

"It's okay," Charlie breathed when he came up for air, "I'll be _very_ quiet, okay?" He smiled up at Carlisle, who gave in at last, having run out of reasons, good or otherwise, and snagged him by the tie once more.

xXxXx

As Carlise, who had been allowed to top, after all, rocked in and out of Charlie with more force than was strictly necessary, muffling all the terrific sounds that clawed at his throat trying to escape, he heard the parchment paper making wild scratching sounds, thoroughly distracting him, despite Charlie being beneath him, wonderfully, wonderfully clinging to him.

"Charlie…"

"Oh, God… what?" Charlie, for one, did not want Carlisle to stop, which he seemed to be about to do.

"I can't do this."

"If you think… I'm going… to let you walk… out of here before you finish… you are DEAD… wrong. Emphasis… on DEAD."

"No, I can't do this on this table. The paper…"

"So take the paper off." He rocked his hips in a futile attempt to get Carlisle moving again. His brain comprehended what he was saying and determined it was logical, but the rest of him seemed intent on being thoroughly shagged before the hour was up.

"That's unsanitary." He paused. "Wait, get up, I have an idea."

xXxXx

After the sixth time Charlie cracked his head on the cabinets, he stopped dead in his coital tracks, sighing.

"Now what?"

"You keep pushing me into the cabinets," Charlie complained, leaning more heavily on the counter against which he was braced while Carlisle took him from behind.

"Then move your damn head."

"I _did. _Why don't you try to not slam me into the wall fixtures?"

"This isn't working, either."

"Hey, it wasn't _my_ idea to get off the table."

xXxXx

Third time's a charm. The phrase kept running through Carlisle head as Charlie moved up and down in his lap. The office chair was infinitely more comfortable, and now he could stay properly focussed. Focussed on the sensation Charlie tight and hot around him, on the other man's thigh muscles surging against his own legs, on the steady flow of delicious sounds coming from him, on the test of Charlie's warm neck beneath his eager lips and tongue.

About to shout in the height of extasy, Charlie bit Carlisle's shoulder quite hard… and nearly broke a tooth.

"What _now_?" Carlisle groaned, still furiously thrusting upwards.

"You're shoulder's _hard_."

"That's not the only part of me that's hard, so if you wouldn't mind…?"

Once more, they neared their goal, at last, at _last_, when a knock came on the door, precisely when Carlisle gave a particularly loud groan as he came.

"Dr. Cullen?"

"It's all right!" he called, choked up. "My patient's in a very bad way, that's all!"

"Oh, God!" Charlie moaned, head nestled against Carlisle shoulder.

"Sorry to disturb you, doctor!"

Unable to answer, Carlisle lazed in their post-coition heap.

"What else have you always wanted to do?" Carlisle asked after some moments.

"You want me to make a list?"

"Oh, yes."

Yes! My mouth isn't numb anymore! I got fillings, and it was numb for three hours. But I'm okay now! Thank you to all of my lovely, anonymous reviewers, and my one non-anon.


	6. Chapter 6

**At an anonymous reviewer's (joking?) suggestion, I bring you something in a different vein, one I would ordinarily not approach, not being a fan of Carlisle/Bella (bear with me) under any circumstances. But I could not resist, ergo:**

He tried to tell himself that it wasn't as serious as it seemed, but every time she came over with his son, he felt such a jolt, so deeply jarring, that it was all he could do not to jump her. He scoffed internally—it figured that he, the most controlled of all his family, would be so uncontrolled in lust. But he couldn't help it; she was so sumptuous looking, so soft and tempting. If he blocked out her voice and everything she said, she would be the perfect lover. Yes, perhaps a nice piece of silver duct tape over her mouth while making love would solve that problem…

But his son was practically joined to her at the hip, and if he even attempted to sleep with Bella, he had no doubt in his mind that Edward, Alice, and Esme would kill him. Very, very slowly.

And yet he found himself outside of her house, looking up into her window. But Edward had beaten him there. They looked like they were dancing. Or rather, like Edward was trying to teach her to dance while Bella fell against him again and again in a way that made Carlisle hotly jealous. He leapt to the roof intending to wait Edward out and to sneak into Bella's room and… and what? He was a rational, 300-year old vampire. Surely he could behave better than this! Surely he had collected enough morals over the course of his long life, learned how to use them, too, to make a more rational decision than this!

Angrily, he jumped off the roof again and paced the yard, kicking up grass as he did so, leaving bare streaks of soggy soil in his wake. If only he could have her just once! If only he could take her in his arms and ravish her one time and one time only, he was certain to be cured of this mad desire.

"Carlisle?" came a soft, though shocked voice from the porch. He froze in his tracks in absolute fear. It was too late to bolt, now, but there was no way he could justify his being there, especially at so late an hour as that one.

"Carlisle, what are you doing here?"

"I…"

Crap. Now what? And then, for the first time, he found himself thanking his strange concupiscence.

"I, uh, came to see you," he replied quickly, approaching with careful steps. "I, er." He began again, more composed this time, resting his foot up on the porch where Charlie stood. "In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I lust after you," he confessed.

With his excellent vampire eyes he saw, through the dark, Charlie's jaw drop and, unwilling to wait for the human to either verbally or physically flay him, he launched himself onto the porch and planted his lips on the other's.

He kept his eyes closed tightly in one prolonged flinch, waiting to be shoved off Charlie's property and tarred and feathered, but instead he felt a hand against the back of his neck, and an eager pair of lips parting in a most welcome manner.

Carlisle walked Charlie backward until he was backed up against the screen door, the other man clinging to and kissing him with such fervency as bespoke a thoroughly bridled desire.

And Carlisle, as the two climbed the stairs of the house shedding clothing here and there, figured that maybe he didn't need Bella. Maybe her _father_ would be an adequate substitute. He was certainly eager enough. And he was not the fruit of Tantalus, as was the buxom Bella Swan.

Charlie was eager and intense in bed, and Carlisle wondered if the two of them did not keep Bella up past the point when Henry left with the astonishing noises.

And as he watched Charlie drift away into sleep with happy sighs, he thought _Yes. This will do._

See, it ended up being Carlisle/Charlie in the end, after all.

Can anyone spot the stolen Pride and Prejudice quote?


	7. The Chapter of Much Angst

Carlisle supposed that the trait of acceptance of very strange things was congenital with the Swans, for when he had told Charlie exactly what the Cullens were, he was at first disbelieving, then a little disturbed, but ultimately accepted and embraced it, and Carlisle, most ardently.

And the necessity to belong must also have been a trait of the Swans, for it was not long after Charlie learned this that he wished to join Carlisle in the curse of immortality. He had asked outright, as was in his character, and had shocked Carlisle so much as to cause the man to choke on his own tongue for a brief spell.

"Will you turn me into a vampire?" [insert choking here]

After some moments during which Carlisle regained his composure, Charlie said, "It's easiest for you, right? The bloodlust isn't tempting like it is to the others? You've already taken my daughter. Why not me, too?"

"It's not that simple, Charlie," he had tried to explain. Thus had begun their first real row.

xXxXx

"We took your daughter because we saw that they couldn't be separated, she and Edward, and it was the easiest way. You… you still have a life."

"Which I want to spend with you," Charlie had said very simply. The only reason he could think that Carlisle would not turn him was that Carlisle did not _want_ him for all eternity. That was the only logical reason.

xXxXx

"No, Charlie, it isn't that," he said, exasperated, now they were picking up their argument again. "It isn't that, at all. You won't be happy. It's not a good existence," he insisted, thinking of the dreadful amounts of money accumulated that could be thrown away on any old thing, the baseball games which his family clearly hated, and the freedom to start life over, become a different person, over and over again.

"It's what I want."

xXxXx

Carlisle knew that there was something about Charlie. There was something that told him he would be very sorry when he had to leave the man behind, take his only daughter, only companion away. There was something that spoke to him of a deep sorrow when he had to vanish from Charlie's life. And the more he thought about Charlie's argument, the more logical, the more humane it sounded, to take Charlie into the Cullen family. No. There really was no good reason.

xXxXx

"It will be painful, Charlie. Like nothing you could ever have imagined. It will make you beg for death." It was a strong rationalisation, but a futile one. They both knew that Carlisle's mind had been made up some time ago.

xXxXx

Carlisle had agreed to do it at Charlie's house, where they could be most alone. He sat with Charlie on his bed and ran his fingers very gently through his hair.

"It's what I want, Carlisle," Charlie whispered against the other man's shoulder. Carlisle barely heard him, thinking all the while that it was the last time he would ever hold a soft, warm Charlie in his arms.

xXxXx

Carlisle sunk his teeth gently and slowly into Charlie's neck, sliding into the warm sheath of flesh and latching his lips to the man's skin. Cradling Charlie's head, Carlisle slowly sucked, his every nerve lighting up like London in the Blitz, the blood hitting is taste buds and positively dazzling them. It had been so long since he had last tasted human blood.

He almost, _almost_ allowed himself to be carried away by the lust he felt, but exercised strict control, as he generally was able, and let the venom percolate slowly throughout Charlie's bloodstream.

xXxXx

Through every shudder and every pained cry, he held Charlie close, until at last the seizing and weeping ceased. And he opened golden eyes like a newborn catching his first glimpse of the world, kissing Carlisle softly, while Carlisle hoped to any supernatural kingdom that may await their souls that he had done the right thing.

This one disappointed me, especially since I've been so eager to write some blood-sucking action. And it is angsty, sorry. That's what I get for writing while watching the intense half of _Pride and Prejudice_.


	8. The Chapter of Failed Baking

Now that Carlisle regularly slept with Charlie Swan, he felt it necessary to do something especially nice for the man on his birthday. He considered sleeping with him, but that happened most nights, so it wouldn't make a very good gift. He also considered buying something, but Charlie never seemed to want anything other than the game on TV, beer, sex, his daughter's safety, Edward's existence terminated, and general happiness. And so Carlisle was driven back to the most traditional form of celebration, one that he thought himself ridiculous for not thinking of sooner: food.

His family had cooked before. He himself had cooked countless times. And he was certain it had turned out well. There was the time they had cooked Italian for Bella… but it turned out she'd already eaten. Right. Well then there had been Bella's birthday. But then she had had the indecency to start bleeding, and had never actually gotten the cake down the hatch.

But it couldn't be that hard. Humans did it all the time, and he knew full well that they were incapable of the most basic things. So cooking had to be fairly simple.

xXxXx

He decided not to try his luck by baking a whole cake. One cupcake would suffice. The recipe he had produced twelve cupcakes, and so he quickly cut the whole thing down by a twelfth and started from there.

The ingredients in the cupboard were, possibly, a few years old, but as they were going to be baked, it would be of little consequence, he decided.

Therefore, upon procuring all the necessary components, he set to work.

xXxXx

Not one of the Cullens, upon entering the kitchen at home, dared asked what their father was thought he was doing. The whole place was covered in flour and sticky little globs of… something. All in all they thought it best to avoid the kitchen for a few days after the incident. To avoid any personal injury.

xXxXx

It was a proud Carlisle Cullen who presented Charlie with his humble gift on the Wednesday that marked that forty-first year of his birth. Charlie, for his part, looked touched, and thanked him very warmly indeed. It was only when he took a bite that the problems began.

xXxXx

He tried, he really did, to disguise his true feelings about the cupcake. And he succeeded for the most part, by masking a groan of acute pain with one of pleasure, and the look on Carlisle's face was enough to make him cry. He looked so proud, so pleased with himself, that Charlie actually ate the whole thing, trying to cram each bite very full with icing, which was the only thing not totally poisonous.

xXxXx

Carlisle made up for it very well in bed, and Charlie almost thought that his struggles had well been worth it when, as Carlisle thought back to how delighted Charlie had looked while eating the cupcake, murmured, "Maybe we should make this a tradition." This time, Charlie did cry.

**Be aware! Never reduce a recipe. It ALWAYS ends badly.**


	9. The Chapter in Which I Use Which A Lot

Okay, so I never read past _New Moon _and never will, so not only do I not know if Bella and Edward get married, I don't know how Ms. Meyer would have it look. Fortunately for you, I don't care, and so I present to you a new chapter:

This could possibly be the most painful experience of his life. It might even top the divorce with Bella's mother. Especially because Bella had invited aforementioned parental unit to her premature wedding.

Yes, Charlie knew he should feel proud of his daughter, as well as some sort of congratulatory joy, but she was marrying _Edward_. Her first boyfriend. (This he had learned from his ex-wife after she'd indulged in a tad too much champagne.) So instead of the use paternal feelings on such a momentous occasion, Charlie felt horrified and wanted to crawl away to some dark corner and drink himself into a coma.

However, his dear daughter had chosen a brightly-lit place for the reception win which there were no dark corners, and so Charlie had to sit at the bridal table, listening to everyone chatter with the merriness dial on as high as it would go.

And then something poked him under the table. It was hard and cold and felt like dry ice encased in a potato sack, and it tickled the bridge of his shoeless foot with a mysterious pleasantness. He tried not to look to startled, to look like he was listening to whatever the Hell Carlisle was saying, but as the thing caressed his Achilles' tendon, he shivered in delight. It inched slowly, slowly higher, nudging his calf now, creeping up under his trouser leg and, unfortunately, considering the circumstances, very much turning Charlie on.

When the thing returned, he poked it back, and his foot and it briefly tangled under the table, giving Charlie a better idea of its shape. Another foot. He glance around at the faces at the table trying to determine whose it was. It was slender, but not enough to be that of a woman, which left Edward, Jasper, Emmett, his ex-wife's new husband, or Carlisle. Who, at that moment, glanced at him as he neared the end of his story that had everyone laughing. Carlisle?

He poked the other foot as trying as best he could to convey a questioning manner, which was hard to do with a foot alone. The other foot went from prodding to stroking, this time in a much northerly region from his foot. And a much more erogenous one, he thought, right as he had lifted his champagne glass to his mouth, causing his to jar it and splash it down his shirt and into his windpipe. As he choked on the bubbly, Bella smacking him on the back as hard as she could (which was actually pretty hard, Charlie mused, thinking that he might just have bruises the next day), he caught Carlisle's full-on stare. Getting up suddenly, without his shoes, he excused himself and went out back to the garden. The table resumed conversation and drinking, the latter of which possibly exceeded the former, except for Carlisle, who still stared after him.

Charlie, on his way out, snagged a bottle of champagne, which, though he detested, was alcohol nonetheless. Grateful to finally be on his own, he ignored the portentous charcoal-gray clouds that threatened to split open and pour on him, and ventured deeply into the garden, out to the centre where sat a fountain. He sat down on the edge of the basin and popped the cork, toasting the statue of Helen of Troy poised where the slate path met the fountain.

"'Is this the face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium?'" Carlisle emerged from the path, which was partly hidden by large hydrangea bushes that effectively cloaked pedestrians.

"So they say," said Charlie, exercising his very small amount of knowledge of the classics. "She's not actually that beautiful," he continued, more to himself.

"Oh, I was talking about you." Carlisle smiled like he was kidding, but his voice had sounded as serious as the weather was turning.

"Couldn't find anyone else to play footsie with?" Charlie asked as Carlisle joined him on the fountain. He offered the champagne, but Carlisle declined.

"Everyone else was busy getting inebriated. They were just starting to make toasts when I left."

"To what?" Charlie asked after helping himself to a very generous swig of drink.

"Oh, anything. The chandelier maker, Esme's new shoes, great aunt Maude, lunar expeditions…"

"We got away just in time." Carlisle nodded, suddenly looking at him very intensely again.

"What?" Charlie demanded uneasily, thinking to remedy his uneasiness with more delicious ethanol.

"You've been staring at me weirdly," he complained, drinking even more. Carlisle now eyed the bottle with some worry and extended his hand half-heartedly to take the stuff away from Charlie, who resisted by hugging it closely. _Oh, to be a champagne bottle,_ Carlisle thought wistfully.

"I can't help it," Carlisle finally said. "I just find you…" he searched for the right word while Charlie drank some more. "Intoxicating."

This got Charlie to lower the bottle, and now he looked at Carlisle with intense interest.

"Really?"

"Yes," he confessed, and edged a little closer on the fountain edge.

"Is that why you were playing a particularly erotic game of footsie with me?"

"Is that what you thought of it? I'm flattered."

"That couldn't have been innocently meant," Charlie protested.

"No. You are absolutely right." The other man's cool breath rushed across Charlie's cheek and neck. He had gotten very close without Charlie noticing somehow. And the champagne bottle… where had that got? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something green in a sea of clear. Turning his head, he saw the bottle bobbing away in the fountain. This motion brought his face in line with Carlisle's perfectly.

The world swam like the champagne bottle, bobbing and drifting this way and that, the only steady thing being Carlisle's face and the bronze eyes that were focused most intently in his lips. The golden lashes were nearly brushing Carlisle's cheekbones, casting faint webbed shadows across his skin in the dim sunlight.

And Carlisle's lips were so tantalisingly close to his own, parted in so inviting a matter, with a tongue peeking out to demurely moisten them, that if he leaned forward just a little…

He aimed and missed spectacularly, joining the champagne bottle with a great splash.

Charlie's face launching a thousand ships. Pfffft. Anyone know where that quote's from?


	10. Chapter 10

Sorry it's been awhile--my word processor malfunctioned, but it's better now (obviously). I have no idea about the procedure when someone gets killed, but chalk any errors up to creative license.

Whenever a member of the community of Forks died, a friend died. There were so few people, and everyone was so close, that when a man was killed by animals and brought into the police station for identification and Charlie was called in, he knew to brace himself for personal loss.

No matter how long he did this job, it was always with shaking fingers that he dialed the numbers of the family members, always with a wrenching in his gut that he asked them to come and identify the body. When the call was made, he retreated to his desk in the dark maze of offices--it was close on midnight and everyone was gone except for Dr. Cullen in the lab, and the lab technicians. He turned on his desk lamp to try and push out the darkness that was swallowing the room, but it's orange glow could only weakly fight the black. Slumped in his chair, he rested his head on his arms. closing his eyes as though he would sleep when he knew full well that he wouldn't sleep for the rest of the night.

Someone opened the door from the lab and he shot up in his chair, pulling some random paper towards him out of a drawer; like anyone would be doing paperwork at this hour.

But it was only one of the lab techs leading the wife of the deceased man--his friend, dammit--out the doors, away from the body, as though that could erase its image from her mind. Charlie knew--it would never be fully erased, never be forgotten. He leaned his elbows against his desk, head in his hands, and glanced at the paperwork he was supposedly doing--it was a good thing the pair hadn't passed too quickly, he thought with a laugh, or they would have found him studying a Christmas card from his daughter made when she was four.

A hand on his shoulder, and bolt of electricity shot down his spine. He put the card away quickly and turned, chair rattling in protest. Carlisle's face said that he had seen the card, and Charlie sighed, wondering if he could get the doctor to prescribe him sleeping medication, although he knew he would probably need the dose of a horse.

"You're lucky to have things like that," the doctor said, coming round to sit on the edge of his desk while gesturing at the closed door.

"You have kids, didn't they ever make things for you?"

"Esme and I adopted them when they were teenagers, beyond all that stuff."

Charlie grunted in response, figuring the doctor hadn't come by to talk about kids. Carlisle's hand returned to his shoulder, the coolness an uncharacteristic comfort. His eyes were an even more brilliant shade of amber in the light of the desk lamp, and they had taken on a predatory cast that was beginning to disturb Charlie. But any feelings of that nature were quickly quashed when the doctor's hand slid from his shoulder to his tie and drew Charlie closer while he leaned down to kiss him. Charlie tried to pull away, worrying over the lab technicians, the newly minted widow, hell, anyone, coming in an finding them, but Carlisle's mouth was insistent, and anything that felt that good couldn't possibly be a bad thing.

"He was a friend of yours, wasn't he?" Carlisle whispered in his ear when he had pulled away. While Charlie caught his breath so he could form words, Carlisle pushed off the desk and lifted one leg into the chair beside him.

"What are you doing?" he demanded half-heartedly, the doctor's question forgotten. Carlisle swung his other leg up so that he was straddling Charlie, and asked, leaning in close again, "Were you close to him?"

It was right about when Carlisle's lips began creeping around beneath his jaw, tongue laving the bone, that Charlie stopped worrying.

"Yes," he breathed, gasping when teeth nipped his earlobe.

"Do you want this?"

"Yes," he breathed again, groaning as Carlisle's tongue slid into his mouth. Quick, cold hands unbuckled his belt and slid down past the elastic of his boxers. He hadn't realised how turned on he had been until the other man's fingers wrapped around him, stroking gently at first, matching the lazy kisses he was giving Charlie.

Carlisle knew to stay away from Charlie's neck--if he were to go that close to a source of such temptation, even with hundreds of years of training, he would surely lose to his baser impulses. Instead, he rested his forehead against the man's shoulder, focussing all his attentions on making Charlie forget about the death, trying to work away the stress with his fingers.

And if the sounds Charlie was making were any indication, it was working. He lifted his free hand and brought it down over Charlie's lips, but to no great effect.

"They'll all hear us if you keep carrying on like that," Carlisle warned him quietly, and Charlie barely managed to choke back a groan. There was something electrically exciting about the idea that anyone could walk in on them, could see them tangled up together like this. He felt like a teenager again, afraid of being caught with Bella's mother in the back seat of his car at the drive-in. But he didn't want to think about Bella's mother--he didn't want to think at all, just lose himself in Carlisle Cullen.

And lose himself he did, quickly, muffling the sound against Carlisle's shoulder, half his mind wondering if he had won the game of keeping quiet, like a seven-year-old playing hide and seek. Carlisle stood, trying to pretend that his legs weren't shaking, and backed away into the desk, assuming a more casual stance just when the lab technicians started to carry the body out on a stretcher.

"What about you?" Charlie asked, panting, a puddle of liquefied bones in his chair.

"You can pay me back later," the doctor replied, leaving before Charlie could get another word out.

When he came outside, Carlisle was talking to his son, and there was Bella, running up to him, asking what had happened. It took him a few moments to remember that it was the dead man she was concerned with, to remember to worry about her safety. As he lead her inside to get the pepper spray, he avoided looking at his chair and tried very, very hard not to think about what it had just been subjected to.

I know, I know, I've already done chair sex. But this was comfort chair sex, not devious chair sex, so it's different.


	11. Chapter 11

I started "Breaking Dawn" in hopes of getting inspiration, and all I had to do was read a few pages before an idea hit me. Just think, with 756 pages, the possibilities are endless.

Carlisle couldn't remember a time when he was an illogical human. There were flashes of a life Before, but not much that wasn't drowned out by three hundred years of experience as a vampire.

Thus, he didn't know how to deal with humans being illogical, as Charlie was at the moment. He, after all, had not been the one to plant the idea of marriage into his sons head, so he was in no way to blame for Bella's premature marriage. But because Charlie was so... human... he had been shunning Carlisle, casting him out of his living room, off of his couch, and refusing to come round and visit. But worst of all possible crimes, Charlie had been withholding sex.

Withholding.

Sex.

Same sentence. And it wasn't just the sex, which was scandalous enough. Charlie was mad at him. At him. He couldn't deal with that.

Since he couldn't call of the wedding, which would be the only thing to calm Charlie down to normal, rational levels of thought, Carlisle thought to try persuasion as a last resort. Hey, he figured, if it worked for Austen, it could work for him.

xXxXx

The last time he had baked, on Charlie's birthday, it had been extremely taxing on both himself and his family, so Carlisle decided that if he was really, truly desperate, he would do that, but not until he had not other options.

Carlisle had already ruled out trying to talk sense into Charlie, since, from experience, he knew you could not fight illogicality with logic. No, he would try to persuade the man through more subtle channels. So he took Bella shopping.

"Why are you doing this? Not that I don't appreciate it, Carlisle, it just isn't... like you." Bella was looking at him warily from the corner of her eye as he practically ran her through the bakery in Port Angeles--he'd barely managed to claw the girl from Alice's pre-marital grasp, and he was not going to waste precious time puttering through the pastries. He, after all, was a vampire on a mission.

"Call it..." He searched for something to call it. "A pre-wedding present. Like your car. It's a Before present. Then you get your wedding present. And then... your After present." Goddammit, now he had to think of another present for his daughter-in-law. Well, he would tackled that problem on a day when he wasn't in search of the Perfect Pastry.

"But it's for your family," he added. "Your whole family." A little wrinkle creased her brow, and she said, "But my mom won't be here for a few days."

"For you and Charlie. Your whole Forks family. That's what I meant, of course," he said, dodging an old woman holding a baguette like a medieval spear, poised to strike if he even thought about making a move on that quiche.

"Okay," Bella said reluctantly, drawing the word out. She fisted her hands in her sleeves, a nervous habit he had observed many, many times before. It was only then that it hit him that it was really awkward, him asking her to come with him like he did. But Charlie... Charlie was worth it.

"Charlie likes vanilla," she said, pointing to a simple yellow cake decorated with plain old vanilla frosting.

"Not that one?" he asked, pointing to a ridiculously ornate one next to it, but she wrinkled her nose.

"I don't like anything flashy..." He was about to snap that he didn't care what she liked. "...and neither does Charlie. I guess I get it from him," she said with a smile. "Although... I think he likes creamed cheese frosting better."

"Oh, good! Like that?" Carlisle asked, eagerly prodding the glass display with his finger. He made a knocking noise on the glass, like a stone striking a window, and quickly lowered his hand. He had pointed to a small cake, another yellow one, with creamed cheese frosting this time. Which, as far as he could tell, was the same as vanilla. But if Bella said Charlie liked it better, then he would paint himself in creamed cheese frosting. He decided to file that into the "desperate" folder in his brain.

He had it gift wrapped while Bella went to look at chocolate bunnies, wondering if the little human girl would be tactless enough to mention anything when he delivered the cake solely to Charlie. He hoped she would clue in, but seeing her knock over a displayed pyramid of chocolate, his hopes rolled away like the malted milk balls scattered all over the floor.

xXxXx

Charlie had very graciously accepted the cake, probably on Bella's behalf, trying to accept the family she was marrying into, but Carlisle could tell that it hadn't had the desired effect. If anything, with it's whiteness and the pretense under which it was given, it only served to remind Charlie of the wedding. He would have to move to plan B, only he wouldn't call it that, because he had the feeling he'd reach plan J before his goal was accomplished, and that sounded really depressing. But it had been days since he had spent an evening with Charlie, let alone a night, and it was much worse than he'd ever imagined it would be, so if he had to go so far as J, he would. He would go beyond.

xXxXx

So food had been unsuccessful. He briefly considered beer, but didn't want it misconstrued as trying to get Charlie drunk. He would never do a thing like that. While they were fighting. Unless he was really desperate. Well never mind any of that.

He considered a new TV, but knew how dearly Charlie loved his flat screen, and even with the offer of a better one, he probably wouldn't give it up. Maybe he could do something involving Charlie's job? Make it easier somehow? Or maybe, he could opt for the more traditional form of placation...

xXxXx

This time, even though Bella was female, he didn't think she would be helpful at all. Bella wasn't a flower kind of girl, and at the mention of floral arrangements for the wedding, she had nearly passed out. Taking Esme would be... awkward. It wasn't that she didn't know about Charlie it was just... it was awkward. Rosalie wasn't even an option, so that left Alice.

"Are these for Charlie?" she had asked, as soon as they had gotten in the car, causing Charlie to nearly reverse through the garage door.

"So?" he had countered defencively, inarticulately.

"I just saw something, that was all."

"You mean... you Saw something?"

"Yeah," she replied easily, looking out the window at the passing scenery as though she wasn't holding the key to his immortal life or proverbial death in her disinterested grasp.

"And? Does he ever start acting rational again?"

She looked at him, just looked, out of the corner of her eye, and he knew she wasn't going to tell him.

"You need to figure it out for yourself," she said, sounding like some kind of wise monk trying to guide an unruly apprentice, rather than his daughter, never mind that she was a surrogate.

Now she pointed at different arrangements while Carlisle shot them down like an RAF ace during the war. They were either too purple, too fluffly, too sparse, too twiggy, note nice enough, too elaborate, too simple, too full of baby's breath, or a million other things that earned him the name Goldilocks before the afternoon was through.

Until Alice pointed, and he swore he saw a ray of sunlight fall upon the sprigs of wildflower-looking blooms and birds begin to sing (although it was only the bell above the door of the shop). There weren't roses, at least not the classic kind, so it wasn't too romantic. There were peonies with something that looked like an overgrown, blue baby's breath and clumps of Queen Anne's Lace, never mind that that was a weed. He took it.

This time, that same evening, he made sure to deliver it when Bella wasn't home.

"What are these for?" Charlie asked after opening the door and finding a very floral Carlisle Cullen looking like an anxious little kitten wanting very badly to be chosen for adoption over all the other little kittens. Charlie tried to push that image from his head. There was no way, after all, he could tackle Carlisle on his doorstep, in view of the neighbours, which was the inevitable result of such an image.

"Um... no occasion." He thrust them out, and Charlie took them, warily.

"Thanks. I don't know if Bella likes these, but hey, it's the thought that counts, right?" And then he shut the door.

If Carlisle had had a beating heart, it would have stopped dead right then.


	12. The Chapter of Disastrous Dancing

Continued from the last chapter. I rather like this arc, so I'm going to stick with it for another chapter or so. And I finished "Breaking Dawn" without getting any more inspiration, except turning Charlie into a vampire, which I did already. Ah well, there are other sources.

Through some (possibly) illegal researching, Carlisle discovered that Charlie had a sister, Beatrice Swan. Whom he hadn't had the chance to see for ten years.

If Carlisle had had any sisters when he was human, he would want to know about them now, would want them to visit. So he had gone to the printers place that Alice had used for the wedding invitations and made one more, mailing it on his way home so that no one was the wiser.

xXxXx

"I don't think that's a good idea," his son told him as they were waiting with Charlie downstairs before the wedding.

"Why not?" He had thought it a perfectly splendid idea. Who, after all, did not want to be reunited with wayward family members?

"There's probably a reason they haven't seen each other in a decade."

"Well... " He hadn't considered that, and was a little annoyed now. "I'm sure they just need a little push in the right direction and they'll be best of friends once again."

Edward shook his head in exasperation; it was really awkward seeing his dad try to court his fiancee's dad. Or anybody, for that matter. It didn't matter how young he looked, it was his dad, and it would always be weird. Especially when he was thinking so loudly. Had Carlisle forgotten he could hear thoughts, or did he intend for his son to know about his sex life?

Before he could get too disturbed, a guest threw the doors open and marched across their foyer in a way that, if it were anyone else, would look authoritative and sexy. On this woman, with her wild brown curls and her shockingly red dress, it looked scary, like Juno has been unleashed after Jupiter had gone and pissed her off. Again.

"Charlie!" the woman boomed. "So nice to see you again! It's only been ten years! But at least you invited me here, that's something, hey?"

"Beatrice... " Whatever he was going to say next was lost in Beatrice Swan's bosom as she squashed her dear little brother against her. When she finally pulled away, Charlie looked a mixture of frightened, anxious, and enraged. And Carlisle was not helping deflect the rage with his guilty look, his eyes so wide it was painful to look at, his jaw slack in shock and remorse. It was like he had a target stapled to his face with the message: HERE I AM, THE SOURCE OF ALL YOUR PAIN.

And Charlie, having fast-working synapses in his brain, honed right in on Carlisle, and the look he aimed in the vampire's direction made him want to shrink to the size of a pea, crawl under the couch, and die.

Poor Charlie probably thought Carlisle was trying to get revenge for being ignored, and Carlisle longed to explain the situation, but then Beatrice--Beattie, she insisted--had corned him on the couch, a squishy arm lying like a dead animal across his shoulders, and kept up a constant stream of babble in his very sensitive ear. And Charlie continued to look murderous, even though his sister's attentions were no longer focussed on him. Carlisle didn't need to hear thoughts to know that, in Charlie's books, he was so dead.

xXxXx

It was a risky move, but Carlisle was willing to stick his neck out all the way at the mercy of Madame Guillotine to win Charlie back. So while everyone was distracted and now that Beatrice was so drunk she was prostrate somewhere and totally quiet, Carlisle shuffled over to Charlie nervously--something he hadn't done as long as he could remember--and held his hand out. Just like Grigg in the scene where he asks Jocelyn to dance in The Jane Austen Book Club. He hoped that, like Grigg, even though he had severely pissed off his loved one, they would wind up together, in the end.

Charlie looked very confused to be asked to dance, especially by Carlisle, and he had hesitated for so long (3.4 seconds) that he was considering yanking the man to his feet and making him dance, if only to give him a chance to explain. But just as he was tensing his muscles to make the move, Charlie took his hand, looking perturbed, and followed him to a corner where they wouldn't easily be seen. They had almost reached a clear area, Carlisle had almost gotten his arm around Charlie's waist, when the song stopped. No matter, they'd wait for the next one. But then Alice was standing up and announcing that, in the spirit of Bella's favourite author, Jane Austen, they would be doing a Regency dance. Apologies to the bride, who had not been warned but forced to take lessons nonetheless. Carlisle wondered what on Earth Alice had been thinking. Everyone knew how uncoordinated Bella was, and to try something as intricate as a country dance was pushing it a little.

But suddenly everyone was lined up, men on one side, women on the other, and Carlisle found himself face-to-face with Beatrice. When, he thought with panic, had she come out of her drunken stupor? Then, looking closer than he ever wanted to look at such a creature, he realised she hadn't. Glancing to his left, for he was standing right next to Charlie, he saw that his Charlie was paired with Sue Clearwater. Thrice-be-damned, blast-it-all-to-Hell dances. Still, he could try to talk to Charlie throughout this dance. He was disappointed that they wouldn't be touching, but you couldn't have everything.

The music started, and the party hopped and skipped and spun in circles, led by the Cullens who had had to take lessons in these sorts of things unless they had experience them first-hand. Carlisle remembered them, and he also remembered that some were very conducive to talking.

And some, like this particular one, were not. Every time he started a sentence, he would get a few words in and then abruptly be whisked away from his quarry and into the arms of Beatrice. She talked to him constantly, because tis was to sort of dance where you could comfortable talk to your partners. Damn, damn, damn.

Every touch of her grubby, worm fingers repulsed him so heavily he nearly gagged when they drew near, and for the closer moves, he found himself squished tight against her bosom like poor Charlie had been. If he survived this to go onto other plots of conquering Charlie's affections again, he would try twice as hard to please him so as to make up for his mistake this time.

After what felt like half an hour, Carlisle was close to proverbial tears and his hands were coated with sticky, rancid sweat that was not his. If he had been human, he would have been in retching into a potted plant just then.

But finally the heavens had mercy on him and the music stopped. He really, really didn't want to bring his revolting hands together to applaud the musicians, so he didn't.

For the first time in hundreds of years, Carlisle felt totally spent, and returned to his seat, feeling like every awful event of the evening had dropped a lead weight into his chest. Beatrice had seized some other unsuspecting wretch, much to his relief. But as he turned away from Charlie, he thought he saw a smirk turn up the corner of his mouth. Another lead weight was added.


	13. Chapter 13

Sorry about the lack of accent on Rene. My inner French geek is crying, but I was too lazy.

He had survived. He had survived the wedding (which was beautiful) and the reception (which was not). The only thing left to do was see the bride and groom off on their honeymoon. Rice was thrown (with unnecessary force by Emmett), people laughed and cried and shouted congratulations, and happiness permeated the air as strongly as perfume does at those make-up counters in Nordstrom.

Except in Charlie's little corner of the world. After offering his congratulations and well wishes to his son, Carlisle sneeked back to see Charlie, who had just finished talking to Bella. His face was hidden partially by the brick wall into which he was trying to get absorbed (or so it appeared), and he didn't see Carlisle approach, didn't take any notice of the world at all until he felt a hand on his shoulder. The man stifled a cry as he jumped away from the human contact, thinking it was Rene, thinking that he didn't want her pity, but it was only Carlisle.

And then he was about to relax back into Carlisle's grasp when he remembered.

That was right. He was mad at Carlisle. It didn't matter how happy Bella was, he still thought it was a stupid idea getting married so early, and he would miss her so much after having just gotten her back. It felt a little like the doctor was stealing her away. Then again... Carlisle would also lose his son. But he had more to make up for it. And anyway, they had had a lifetime together while Charlie had only gotten a few years; not even most of her childhood.

So instead, he leaned further away from Carlisle and asked, gruffly, "What do you want?"

"I just- I just wanted to see if you were okay."

"Well you've seen, so you can go now," Charlie snapped. There may have been regret blooming deep in his chest, but he quashed it.

"I'm worried about you, that's all," Carlisle mumbled, looking at his feet. Damn the human for making him feel nervous for the first time in three hundred years. For making him feel like a teenager again. Although it was kind of thrilling, like getting a taste of the hormonal years of a different century.

Charlie, on his part, damned the vampire, because every word that Carlisle uttered fell from his lips and struck out at his defences. His resolve crumbled further when he looked over at Carlisle and saw him staring intensely with an amber puppy-dog-eyed look that he would have found disturbing if he didn't find it so adorable.

"I'm mad at you," Charlie said obviously and unnecessarily, and Carlisle felt like Ford Prefect having to deal with humans and their way of saying obvious and unnecessary things.

"I know. But I don't want you to be," he said quietly.

"Maybe you should have thought of that before the wedding."

Now was the time, Carlisle thought, to jump him and ask for forgiveness, but then Charlie turned away and was absorbed into the crowd.

xXxXx

Over the course of several days, Carlisle tried everything, including sending Charlie dinners from his favourite diners and restaurants to ease the pain of Bella leaving. He had checked--they were all eaten, but still Charlie stood firm. He tried writing a letter, like so many of Austen's heroes, in explanation of his erratic behaviour, but once he'd finally gotten the wording right after working two days straight, he left it on Charlie's doorstep and watched a dog carry it away.

Once he had recovered from indignant shock, Carlisle had raced after it, but by then it had entered a well populated area of Forks, so he couldn't use his vampire speed and had to trot after the silly little terrier until he caught it. Which was not for an hour and a great number of miles later. By then, it was mangled beyond legibility and it was the only copy Carlisle had made. He had, you see, not anticipated its being stolen by a dog. Next time he would be prepared. If there was a next time, because as soon as he had retrieved the letter, Carlisle had decided against ever writing letters again.

xXxXx

He wondered how one human could have such will power to abstain from sex on behalf of mere punishment. He figured that that was where Bella had gotten her stubbornness from.

Carlisle, in the space of a week, had gone from confident-about-winning-Charlie-back to totally-hopeless-and-willing-to-try-voodoo-at-this-point. But before he could hunt for a potato sack that would serve as the body (he had some curly shoelaces purloined from Alice for the hair and black beans for the eyes) he ran into Charlie at the hospital.

There had been an accident on the slippery bend to the north of Forks, and Charlie had come in after the ambulance. His curls were damp and flattened, dripping drops of water onto his skin in a most distracting way.

Carlisle could barely get the damage report, having to ask for repetitions over and over again because his mind kept wandering all over the place. Or rather, all over Charlie. Finally the man gave him the oddest look and asked, "Are you okay, Doctor?"

"Fine. Fine, thanks. What were you saying?"

"I wasn't."

At Carlisle's puzzled look, Charlie said, "I finished. I was waiting for you. To go do your job."

"Right, sorry. See you later?"

Charlie sighed, and Carlisle swore the man was about to give in, but instead, he said, "Don't let your personal life affect your work, Doctor."

With horror, Carlisle watched him go. Never in his life had he had to be told not to let his personal life interfere with his work. Never had it, except in the cases where he had turned dying humans into vampires, but that was for their benefit and therefore didn't count.

He couldn't decide whether the longing to have Charlie back was stronger than his irritation just then.

xXxXx

But finally, he couldn't take it anymore. It had been two weeks, and if Carlisle could cry, he would be curled up in the corner weeping. It wasn't just the sex. It may have seemed that way, but it wasn't. He missed Charlie's company; the human connexion was such a precious thing, so curious, so entertaining. He doubted flames or being torn to shreds would kill him now. Only this feeling of something missing being prolonged would kill him. In just a few more days, he was sure, because he had never wanted someone so badly, had never had an object of his desire held out of reach. It was horrifying.

So finally, it was time to do something productive.

xXxXx

Perhaps looking like a wet, helpless, hopeless kitten and standing on Charlie's doorstep would not be productive, but he ought to give it a try at least.

Very cautiously, he knocked on the door and held his breath, although it didn't make much of a difference to him. But it was a human trait. One he had picked up from Charlie. He felt a twisting in his gut; the fear that this wouldn't work writhed in his innards.

"What is it?" Charlie asked. Carlisle was momentarily struck dumb by seeing him out of uniform after so long (he counted the tuxedo as a uniform; a marital uniform). The words died on his parted lips and his mind was overwhelmed by the desire to knock Charlie over, slide his hands up under the flannel shirt, feeling as much of the burning skin as possible, and kiss him senseless before--

"What do you want, Carlise?"

His mind, with Herculean effort, launched itself out of the gutter and back onto the doorstep with Carlisle. He had prepared a speech explaining himself and begging for forgiveness, complete with genuflection. He opened his mouth further to accommodate his words, took a deep breath, and went for it:

"I miss you." Wait. That wasn't what he had intended to say. It wasn't what Charlie was expecting to hear, apparently, because he began to do a marvelous impression of a fish.

Carlisle tried again:

"I miss you a lot." Well, fuck it, then. "I hate being without you, Charlie, and I'm so sorry I've made you angry, but I had my son's and your daughter's happiness in mind.

"I tried to make it up to you, but it's been blunder after blunder so that I feel like Inspector Clouseau. But now I just have to tell you: I want you, not just for sex, but because you're you, and I need you, because I've been going mad these past few days, and I miss you even though it's only been two weeks. Please, Charlie I-"

And Charlie, who was still being a fish, abruptly snapped out of it and stepped into the rain that was coming down harder now and dragged Carlisle into a kiss. On the doorstep. In front of the whole neighbourhood and the world, and, immensely thankful to have been cut off mid-rant, Carlisle held on to Charlie tightly, not willing to let him escape again.

End of arc. Now I go back to one-chapter deals. I hope you enjoyed that little side trip as much as I did.


	14. Chapter 14

Charlie, a very old-fashioned man by nature, had reason to curse the modern world often with its drunken teenagers getting killed, its riff-raff that constantly came into contact with his Bells, and its marriages that no longer needed parental consent to take place. But today he had more reason than usual to curse it, which he did so vehemently.

It started with a crime scene.

It was a well-known fact that Mrs. Maybelline was insane (no matter what fancy terms Carlisle ascribed to her, that was the basic truth), although no one had expected her to put her son in critical condition and herself in a pill-induced coma. Which was why Charlie was stuck at the hospital all day long on a fine Sunday in summer when he could be fishing. He sympathised with the kid, prayed and prayed that he would live through the trauma, but he really didn't need this right now.

And to make matters infinitely worse, the nurses were flirting.

Not with him, of course. With Carlisle. Charlie acknowledged with the logical side of his brain that they didn't know Carlisle belonged to someone else, but with his emotional brain, he burned with jealousy and possessiveness. This was his latest problem with the modern world--girls could be so forward, they could even go and ask the man out. When Charlie was a kid there had been significant looks exchanged between the sexes, but that was it. It was the boy who went up to the girl and asked if he could hold her hand. As he'd grown older, the situation had remained pretty much the same, at least amongst the people with whom he socialised and dated. Sure, René had come up to him, had pretty much asked him out, had even suggested they get married, but that had been the exception, not the rule.

Now, these girls didn't care how they appeared to everyone around them, apparently, because whenever they talked to Carlisle about a patient or brought him something, they would press right up against him and smile prettily. He assumed they thought they were smiling lustily, but with their teenage bodies, there was no way they could pull it off.

As a shrill, feminine laugh pierced his ear, he darted a sharp glance at some young girl with long, honey-blonde hair rippling down her back in waves. Her red, glossy lips framed perfect white teeth--almost perfect. Charlie noted with satisfaction that she had a crooked canine. She was still smiling over something Carlisle had said. He noticed that Carlisle did not look up at her as he bent over one of the many beds in the long, sterilely white, almost blue, hallway.

Wondering if the girl would be interested to know that that was how he fucked Carlisle from time to time, bent over some table or desk when they had only minutes to spare made him smirk in her direction, but she didn't notice. Or perhaps she'd like to know how Carlisle sounded when he was trying to muffle his moans, or how he shouted wonderfully when they were all alone and in bed.

Unfortunately, thinking about Carlisle and sex called up an image of the doctor screwing one of these young nurses into of the cots. He could see so clearly the girl's candy apple lips puckered in a perfect O, the glistening trail of saliva left down her slender neck as he trailed his mouth down along her throat, could hear the springs creaking obscenely.

His lust winning over his old-fashioned sense of propriety, Charlie launched himself off the wall with a push of hot, itching hands, and strode to where Carlisle was now comparing notes with another nurse. Or maybe she was whispering everything she'd like him to do to her, maybe she was giving him her number... maybe she was looking at the approaching man very strangely. There were no mirrors, but Charlie could guess what his expression was--fierce, determined, and possessive.

He grabbed Carlisle by the arm, pulling him away mid-sentence and out the doors at the other end of the hallway.

"-shouldn't be any more trouble, unless there's infection," Carlisle finished, too startled to process the change of scenery or the nurse's shocked expression receding in the glacial gloom.

Charlie wrenched open the door of the first closet he found and shoved Carlisle in, who stumbled but caught himself before he could crash into a shelf.

"Charlie?"

"You didn't notice all those nurses," he growled, shutting the door, "throwing themselves all over you? Didn't notice them looking up at you under long, thick eyelashes, or the way they smiled at you?" He had backed Carlisle up against a low cabinet so that they were pressed together as closely as possible, and now he ground his hips down into Carlisle's, drawing out a surprised gasp.

"You mean," Carlisle said, sliding hands into Charlie's hair and looking at him through blond lashes just like the nurses had, "that all day while you were standing around, you were watching them with envy; wanting to be in their place, maybe? Every time one of them came near me," he pressed a kiss to the corner of Charlie's mouth, "you wanted to snap their pretty little necks over me?" He kissed the other corner of Charlie's mouth and leaned closer, whispering in his ear, "I bet you were thinking all the while about telling them we have sex, describing every detail to them, how you fucked me in your office chair, in my study, in closets like this one..."

With a low growl, Charlie spun Carlisle around and pushed so that he was bent over the cabinet. A breathy laugh was torn from his throat as his hands made contact with the chilly metal. Leaning over Carlisle, Charlie kissed a line down the nape of his neck almost tenderly until he met the collar of his lab coat. Carlisle shrugged out of it, the white cloth fluttering to the floor and laying tangled between their feet.

While undoing his belt buckle and freeing himself of pants and boxers enough for what he wanted, Charlie searched the shelves for something slick. He found baby oil in a nearby drawer and wasted no time in getting a couple of fingers into Carlisle. Carlisle handed back a condom--after many times of such encounters, he always came to work prepared--and Charlie rolled it on quickly, pouring more oil into his hand and smearing it all over himself.

He thrust into Carlisle hard, biting back a shout with great difficulty, and as he moved, he felt the doctor trembling around him, under him. Pounding relentlessly into the other man, Charlie muffled his moans in Carlisle's neck, sucking at his earlobe for a few seconds at a time.

Finally, just when Carlisle was thinking he might burst, Charlie slid one hand from Carlisle hip and took his cock in his hand, pumping it furiously in time with his thrusts.

"Charlie, oh fuck, Charlie," he cried, his panting breaths punctuating each word. Charlie grunted behind him, unable to remove either hand from the writhing, bucking body beneath him to cover Carlisle's mouth. Either the closets were more soundproof than the doctor had ever cared to let on, or the man had stopped caring about who heard them, because when he came, it was with such a shuddering groan that it vibrated throughout Charlie's body and pushed him over the edge.

As Carlisle fell against the cabinet, Charlie fell on top of him. But before he could drift off, Carlisle poked him in the stomach with his elbow, prompting him to stand, shakily. As Carlisle searched the shelves for a pair of scrubs, he casually said, "Maybe I should encourage those nurses to flirt if this is the outcome." He grinned over his shoulder, and in that instant he looked and sounded so devious, so conniving, that Charlie wondered if Carlisle might not have orchestrated the whole thing himself.


	15. Chapter 15

Considering he himself was married, Carlisle had no right to be jealous. This is what he told himself. Over and over and over again as if by repeating it enough time he could make it a fact. He had to be up to a hundred and eighty times by now, and it definitely didn't change the feeling of jealousy curling hard and deep in his stomach.

It wasn't that Charlie didn't have a right to converse freely with whomever he chose. Carlisle just wished he wouldn't stand so close to that Clearwater woman. Or any woman. Better yet, any person at all.

All right, maybe that was a little dramatic. But… if that woman touched his arm one more time while laughing and tossing her hair in that particular way that screamed "fuck me", there was no telling what Carlisle would do. Carlisle sneered and mimicked her, tossing his head back in that "sexy" way before remembering that, hello, he was in a crowded room. Ergo, he should not be trying to mockingly impersonate the little harlot. At some human's disturbed glance, he wanted to kick himself, but that would be socially awkward.

He tried to remember all the reasons why he hadn't bitten a human without good reason for hundreds of years, but it was getting harder and harder. Besides, wasn't this a good reason? People—especially people affiliated with the Quileutes—weren't supposed to come anywhere near his territory. And damn him if she wasn't getting _even closer_.

Carlisle took a deep breath and loosened his grip on his champagne glass when he heard the glass crackling a little bit. Thankfully not too many people could see him losing his mind in this dark corner as everyone danced around him. His family, too, were mercifully caught up with the newlyweds and paying him no mind. Perhaps Esme would wonder where he had gone at some point, but tonight, there was no room in his mind for Esme.

Okay. Breathe. It was probably nothing, right? Charlie showed him on numerous occasions his loyalty and devotion, and if last night's antics had been any indication, then he certainly wasn't going anywhere and leaving Carlisle behind.

So let him talk to this _Clearwater_ woman, even if she reeked of wet dog, had bad hair, crooked teeth, and a vapid mind. Breathe, he reminded himself. And look at that dress she was wearing. Talk about cheap, ill-fitting, and tacky. A woman who looked like that had no right to be hanging from the arm of such a dashing man as Charlie, he seethed. Breathe.

Except wait, he didn't need to. Carlisle sighed and angled his gaze back to the family table. Alice was fluttering about taking pictures of Bella and Edward, and Emmett was telling a story that had Bella looking playfully disgusted. Jasper sat. That was all. Esme was talking to Bella's mom—girl talk, from what he could hear, and quickly tuned it out. He had gotten enough of that from Alice the past few days. He couldn't see Rosalie, but imagined she was messing with all the human boys she could find, as had become her latest hobby.

With the images of his happy family before him, pleasant music, and the boisterous atmosphere, Carlisle calmed down a little bit (but set his champagne glass down just in case).

But when he chanced a look back at where Charlie and _Clearwater_ had been talking, he found them not there. And then he panicked. The panic and jealousy flared up like oil on a fire and he scanned the crowd intently.

_There_. Of all the injustices of the world. He had been able to handle to Volturi and their odd ways, some involving tying him upside down from the ceiling and making him sing. (No one but Carlisle knew just how bizarre the Volturi could get when they didn't get enough food and entertainment.) He had been able to handle being assaulted by flapper girls the first—and _only_—time he had been to a city in the twenties. He had been able to handle being hunted down by the local sheriff on suspicion of being a Communist in the fifties. He had been also been able to handle the embarrassment of tripping on a rock and falling face first in the wet sand as he had been visiting the Quileute on the matter of the treaty.

But _this_ was a slight that pierced him deeply and that would not be easily forgiven. He was about to start forward and—

"Carlisle, you don't want to do that," Jasper said, holding him back by his elbow. Carlisle turned sharply and glared down at his adopted son.

"I could feel your anger all the way from the table. It's just one dance. Nothing to freak out over."

"What would you do if you saw Alice draped all over some other guy? One who runs with the Wet Shaggy Dog Crew?"

"You should just calm down…" Jasper began, tactfully ignoring Carlisle's jab at his wife. Carlisle scoffed and shook his head.

"How can I sit here and watch that _female creature_ cling to my Charlie?" he said, starting out angrily but ending up whining. He looked briefly away from Jasper to the dancing couple and let out a growl of rage. Now, as if to rub as much salt in the wound as the Romans had ground into Carthage, she was pressed up close against him, hanging off his neck like some kind of slutty lemur, or whatever the hell those monkeys were called that hung around people's necks.

Now he did start forward, angrily charging through the crowd and dislodging happily drunken guests. With zero regard for the _Clearwater_ woman, Carlisle reached out and grabbed Charlie by the arm, hauling him out of her siren clutches.

"He's mine, Circe," he snapped quietly, probably not loudly enough for her to hear. She stared at hi with big, stupid, shocked brown eyes, mouth agape. He wanted to reach out and close it for her, tell her she looked like an idiot, but just as he opened his mouth to verbally flay her, the tables were turned, and Charlie seized him by the arm, dragging him away.

Charlie didn't lessen his grip until they reached the bottom of the staircase in the living room.

"What do you think you're doing?" he growled angrily, and Carlisle almost felt guilty before anger and jealousy flared up in him again.

"You can't just waltz onto a dance floor and pull someone away from his partner." Charlie sounded really, really mad, but Carlisle was having none of it. He took hold of Charlie by the shoulders and shoved him up against the stair rail.

"You can't just waltz onto a dance floor with some wolf-loving harlot making eyes at you when you belong to someone else," he said, and he may have growled at the end.

"Is that what this is about? You're jealous? I can't dance with one woman whose husband just died without you flipping out? And since when do you own me?" he demanded, voice rising in volume.

Instead of continuing an argument that would get neither of them anywhere, Carlisle lunged forward and violently kissed him. He had just managed to get a tongue into Charlie's mouth when he was shoved away.

"A kiss isn't going to make it any better," Charlie snapped, panting. "You can't just do something like that and expect me to be okay with it."

"Charlie," he whined. "She was _all over_ you. _I'm _the one you take every opportunity to sleep with, remember?" he begged.

Charlie looked like he might be coming round, but then shook his head.

"You had no right—"

All right. If Charlie wanted to try to argue, fine, but Carlisle wasn't standing for any of it. He wedged a leg between Charlie's, pressing hard into his crotch and drawing out a loud, low moan.

"Carlisle," he pleaded, but Carlisle shut him up with another kiss, not any gentler. This time, however, Charlie invitingly opened his mouth beneath Carlisle's, and allowed an extra tongue to join his. But the kiss did not last long before Carlisle, against any better judgement he may have had on any other day, kissed his way hungrily down Charlie's neck, biting at the soft, warm flesh the whole way down to his collarbone.

When he was met with obstructive clothing, he shoved it aside, pulling off the black tie, the suit jacket, and starched white shirt in a hurry, trying to cover as much skin with his mouth as he could. Fingers tugging at his hair brought his head up, however.

Charlie shuddered when he saw the look in Carlisle's eyes, but swallowed his exhilaration and gasped, "We should move somewhere else."

So Carlisle, attempting to keep his lips glued to Charlie's, shoved him upstairs and down the hall, pushing him into the first room they got to. As soon as he kicked the door shut behind them, he had Charlie hard against it and was grinding down against his hips urgently.

"Never," he gasped desperately to the sound of Charlie's moaning, "let anyone touch you like that." That would ordinarily have sounded very threatening indeed, and Charlie ordinarily would have smacked him, but it sounded so needy and so _hot_ that he let it slide. He would let anything slide in his current state. He could even agree to Beatrice moving in and becoming a surrogate housewife while Bella was gone.

He paused a moment. No, not even Carlisle could skew his judgement that badly.

"You're mine," Carlisle whispered, head against Charlie's shoulder, hands gripping his hips painfully enough to leave bruises, hips still moving roughly against his.

"Yours," Charlie echoed in a gasp, sliding his hands through Carlisle's soft hair. It was completely dark where they were, he just realised, so he couldn't push Carlisle to some horizontal surface so they could screw properly. Damn.

But as Carlisle bucked against him, harder and harder, building up, he thought that yes, this would suffice. Carlisle, though it was dark, found all the spots on his body that drove him crazy—just behind and below his ear, a particular place on his collarbone, his right nipple… Any insane behaviour Carlisle had exhibited earlier was forgotten and forgiven.

With a cry that was surely too loud for their own good, Carlisle shuddered violently one last time and then fell forward against Charlie. Charlie moved his hands so that he was holding Carlisle up, lovingly smoothing them up and down his back. Charlie rocked hard against him until he came as well, falling against the door in a boneless slump.

They both knew that they should get cleaned up and rejoin civilisation, but Charlie was so warm in his arms, and Carlisle was so sweetly exhausted, head nestled against his shoulder, that neither had the heart to move except to stumble around in the dark until they found a horizontal surface and collapsed onto it. Charlie fell asleep, and Carlisle, into a happy stupor.

xXxXx

Light poured into the room, and Carlisle sat up, staring blearily at the slender form in the doorway. He shook Charlie awake in a panic upon realising who it was.

"When I said get a room," Bella said in a strangely calm, high-pitched voice, "I did not mean _my_ room!"

Thanks to happykid for the idea of a jealous Carlisle. I'm extremely busy this year, so updates won't be frequent, but trust me, there will be updates. I won't abandon this story any time soon.


	16. Chapter 16

**I'm going to apologise here, because I just started watching Buffy again, so it's likely that I'm going to mix up the vampires of Twilight with those of Buffy in regards to what their limitations are, what they can eat, how they appear. So sorry in advance.**

"How do you do it?" It was a question he heard very often. "How do you stay so calm all the time? So composed?"

His answers varied; sometimes he told them it was tea that he drank. Sometimes he said it was a mindset that came with the job. Sometimes, if he felt like screwing around with people, he said it was because he meditated every day. Went to church. Was just That Sort of Guy.

Never in a thousand years would he tell his patients, his co-workers, the concerned loved ones of those he was treating the truth. There was no way, he knew, that they would be able to handle it.

xXxXx

With the weather-induced car accidents, the strange animal attacks, and Bella's clumsiness, Charlie was in the hospital a lot. Mainly, he had to stick around so he could comfort loved ones of the injured or absorb the details so he could write a report, which left him a lot of free time to wander. Plus, before work, he liked to stop in, check on the people he had had to bring in. Which often led to him stopping by Carlisle's office.

The nurses thought it was very sweet, two men being such close friends that one would go out of his way to visit he other. Perhaps their opinion would change if they knew how close, but thankfully, they would never find out.

xXxXx

And so it had become a routine, Charlie stopping in to see patients, to see Carlisle, and to screw him bent over the desk, quickly, like taking a shot of espresso. After this ritual, both could function properly for the next few hours, at least.

xXxXx

If they saw each other before lunch, they found an empty private room, locked the door, and took their sweet time. No one would think to look for either in such a place, or to go in for any other reason. So Carlisle took his time disrobing Charlie, kissing paths all across his slowly-being-bared skin. And Charlie took his time preparing Carlisle, sliding his fingers in and out slowly, lovingly before replacing them with his cock and continuing his gentle ministrations.

The rooms were very well muffled so that no patients would keep each other up, so Carlisle, while not completely letting loose, allowed some of his patently delicious sounds to escape his throat right into Charlie's ear, driving him wild. But wild, they bother understood, was for their next encounter.

xXxXx

At lunch, Carlisle tended to hide in his office so that no one would see him not eating, but he made sure he was always in it, looking like he was doing work even if he was only doing the daily Cryptoquote in case any one asked why he wasn't eating.

So when he went to the bathroom, he was actually snatched by Charlie and stolen into a closet, where Charlie usually proceeded to suck him off quickly, down on his knees on the cold linoleum floor. Carlisle had one hand in Charlie's hair, gripping the curls as gently as he could, the other clenched between his teeth so that he wouldn't shout.

xXxXx

On the way home from the station Charlie passed by the hospital, unless he was already there due to some accident. Either way, afternoon usually found the pair in another closet, kissing fervently, as though the last time they had seen each other had been much longer than four or five hours.

In the lazy, or bus afternoon, they couldn't find the effort in them to have anything other than intercrural sex, even though that meant more to clean up later. To make sure no one could open the door and surprise them, Carlisle usually had Charlie pressed against it, grinding into him hard and fast. Charlie's breath was ragged and loud in his ear, in his hair as he buried his head against Charlie's shoulder. He focussed intently on not hurting Charlie too much as he held tightly onto his hips. On a good day, he only left bruises. He would have felt guilty, he supposed, had Charlie not seemed so turned on by it.

xXxXx

It was the evenings alone that were the most relaxing. When no one was home but them and they had a bed that was actually comfortable, Carlisle could be as loud as he wanted—very loud—and Charlie could be as slow as he wanted—painfully, beautifully slow. They weren't often alone in either's house together, but they savoured the times they were, taking advantage of the privilege to lie lazily in each other's arms and kiss slowly. To take the time to talk, to touch slowly, to learn every odd place on the other's body, every place that had the other turned boneless in pleasure. To take the time to revel in their inexhaustible desire.

xXxXx

Better than any drug, more reliable than years of practised patience, more efficient than exercise or sleep, more enjoyable than a good diet, and more secret than anything, was Carlisle's way of staying relaxed and calm. What Carlisle had that no one else did, that one else ever would, was Charlie.


	17. Chapter 17

Let's imagine that Carlisle is still a virgin. Now let's take a "Hero and Leander"-esque approach to the situation. This was inspired by Marlowe's version of the aforementioned story in which Leander uses witty rhetoric to get Hero in bed.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Well if that wasn't supportive, Carlisle didn't know what was.

"Thanks," he said drily, looking down at his scuffed skater shoes instead of at Charlie. Who probably had that gawky expression, like when Carlisle had let the werewolf thing slip once. Who probably was starting to look at him with more distaste than shock.

"Do you want to, or not?"

It was Carlisle's turn to gawk. Had they not just gotten done having this conversation?

"No! Of course not! I _like_ being a virgin," he affirmed.

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Yeah, well-"

"My brain can't even process that," Charlie continued somewhat numbly.

"Don't hurt yourself."

Charlie sat up a little bit straighter in his wicker chair on the porch in back of the house and looked at Carlisle intently. Carlisle thought he was about to be rebuked for the insult, but instead, Charlie said, "It's unnatural not to have sex. Unless you're a nun. You want to be a nun?"

"No, I don't want-" Carlisle began, exasperated.

"Because it would be a sad thing to see your pretty hair all covered up."

"How touching that you feel that way," Carlisle said even more drily. He sighed. "I just want to do the right, honourable thing and not become a slave to my body."

While Charlie was thinking that he wouldn't really mind being a slave to Carlisle's body, what he said was, "Honourable? You know, you're born with your virginity, right?"

"Yeah."

"And to be honourable, you have to _do_ something honourable. So being born with something isn't _honourable_. Was Hercules born with his strength?"

"Yes."

"Okay. But he was just heroic. You're going for honourable, which you won't achieve unless you do something."

"Okay, but I'm still not sleeping with you," Carlisle replied, for lack of any better argument.

xXxXx

Carlisle wasn't frightened easily, but he near leaped out of his skin and out the nearby open window when Charlie snuck up behind him and said "Show me your virginity." When he had calmed down a little and released the windowsill from a death grip that cracked the plaster, he said, "That sounds incredibly suggestive, and no."

"I didn't mean it be-"

"Well that's how it came out."

"Sorry. I meant, show it to me. Point to it, pick it up, poke it with a stick. Describe what it looks like."

"What? I can't. That's ridiculous," Carlisle scoffed, looking at his clipboard in what he hoped was a very important, busy-looking way, and tried to walk briskly. He was already walking quickly, but it wasn't the same effect as walking _briskly_. "And anyway, this isn't the time nor the place for this very much one-sided and unwelcome conversation."

"I'm trying to make a point here," Charlie obstinately continued. "If it doesn't exist at all, if it has no being in this world, how can you lose it?"

Carlisle didn't stop moving, but his brain definitely stalled.

"Okay… but I'm still not sleeping with you."

xXxXx

If the hospital hadn't been the right time nor place, the kitchen table in Charlie's house with Bella and Edward in the next room was the polar opposite of "right" time or place.

"God clearly wants you to have sex. It's kind of dishonouring Him when he gives you an ability, a gift, and you throw it away. Why would He like you better if you don't use his gifts? It's like getting a really gaudy egg beater for a birthday and then letting it get all dusty in your basement. Whoever gave it to you is going to be pretty insulted."

"How can an egg beater look gaudy?" Carlisle asked, seizing on the only point he could fight.

"Not the point. You're throwing God's graciousness back in his face."

"The Bible even denounces homosexuality, so don't bring God into this."

"But David, of the Goliath story, was gay. And if you ask me, so was Judas."

"No one did ask you."

"It doesn't change the fact that God made us this way for a reason. If men really weren't supposed to have sex with each other, there wouldn't be a way to. There is, so by denying yourself, you're denying God."

"You're not even religious. You know what? You're just weird. Not even a Catholic, not even an Episcopalian. Just weird."

"Why? Because you can't argue back?"

"Maybe. But I'm still not sleeping with you."

Edward, who had just entered the kitchen, turned paler than he usually was and swiftly exited.

xXxXx

"You're not doing yourself a favour by not having sex. You're like some amazingly delicious fruit, and you're letting yourself ripen until you fall, bloated, to the ground. Do you want that? Because you can't enjoy a fruit that's all fat and gross and squashed on the ground." Carlisle sighed because yes, they were starting this again. He had gotten so comfortable with his head in Charlie's lap, lying on the couch, and then the man had had to open his stupid mouth.

"You mean _you_ can't. And I don't age, so it hardly matters." Carlisle wondered when Charlie had become so eloquent. It was, he guessed, purely thanks to the subject matter.

"It's the principle of the thing. Your body won't age, but your mind and your soul will. Face it, you're heading into over-ripe fruit territory."

"You're not, by comparing me to rotten fruit, endearing yourself to me at all."

"You're missing the-"

"At all," Carlisle reiterated.

"If you take a rose and distil its scent, make into a perfume, you can enjoy it that much longer and it will be that much more beautiful than if you let it waste and whither on the vine."

"Don't bring Shakespeare into this," Carlisle warned.

"I'll bring the Queen of England into this if I have to," Charlie assured him calmly.

Carlisle looked up at him, rolling onto his back.

"Who taught you to argue like this to get into bed with someone?"

"Not someone. You. And I was self-taught. Tell me, should I keep studying?"

Carlisle sat up now, legs tucked under him, and looked straight at Charlie. His hands, suddenly fidgety, rested on his thighs.

"No," he finally decided. "You pass."


	18. Chapter 18

When women weren't viciously clawing at each other's throats and stabbing each other in the back with improbably high stilettos, they were practically glued to each other. Ever since the wedding, Esme and Rene had been in the latter group. And if it hadn't been for that relationship, many, many things would not have happened on the Swan-Cullen camping trip.

xXxXx

There were four tents. Okay, fine. That wasn't so bad. One for Alice and Jasper, one for Emmett and Rosalie, one for Edward, Bella, and Renesme, and one left over. One that Charlie and Carlisle had to share. Which was fine. They were both adults, they could handle that. There was nothing inherently wrong with the situation. Rene and Esme were in Hawaii, so they could have 'Mom time', and the men would be fine without Rene.

The clan was a few hundred miles from Forks, just outside of Olympia, camping for a few days in August as a vacation, because Charlie couldn't get enough time off to go someplace far away, and Bella didn't want to leave him alone. It was just for a few days, so even if anyone got into a fight—which wasn't very likely—then it would be over soon. A fight would have been less drama-inducing.

xXxXx

Setting up camp had gone without hitch, and by ten, Charlie had eaten and gone to bed and everyone else was gathered around the campfire. Carlisle had soon joined Charlie in the tent to give the young people time by themselves and to get some writing done for a couple of medical journals. When he entered, Charlie was sprawled half out of his sleeping bag, limbs nearly akimbo, trying to stay cool.

Maybe it was being away from Esme, but Carlisle couldn't stop staring. Of course, if he was being honest with himself (which he generally was proud of being), he would admit that he had always kind of wanted Charlie. But an hour into his writing, he still couldn't focus, and it had never been this bad before. Finally he put down his pen and looked at the man. Maybe looking at the situation logically would help. Okay, he could do that. He was a doctor. Doctors were logical.

Number one reason why he should stop being preoccupied with Charlie Swan: he was married. Yeah, that was a good reason. Good start. Number two reason: Charlie was a human. It would be awkward. Even Edward and Bella hadn't managed to work the interspecies thing for long. Number three reason: it was stupid. All right, so that wasn't as good a reason, but it was still a reason. And it _was_ stupid. What did Charlie have going for him, anyway? He was only mildly attractive, he was kind of whiny, he was really protective, he was authoritative, the way his shirt was rucked up exposing his stomach was kind of hot… Wait, what? Carlisle shook his head.

And then he looked more closely. Yeah, it was definitely hot. Charlie's shirt had ridden high enough that he could see the black curly hairs leading down into his shorts. And they were taunting him him. He stared at them, wanting to run his hand through them, down into Charlie's shorts, and…

"Carlisle!" The only word that could accurately describe what Carlisle did was 'spaz'. He spazzed, his pen and papers flying everywhere.

"Carlisle," Bella said again, poking her head into the tent. "We need you to mediate and arm-wrestling match. Everyone else keeps playing favorites."

"Um… okay, I'll be there in a second."

Carlisle glared at Charlie's sleeping form, collected his papers into some kind of order, and left the tent.

xXxXx

Maybe it could have ended there. If Carlisle was a stronger man. Since he wasn't, it didn't. At breakfast the next morning, everyone sat around the fire, the vampires feeding off of a couple of bear carcasses Emmett had brought back from hunting at dawn, and Charlie at cooked bear meat and some pudding he had packed.

Carlisle had just happened to glance over at Charlie, and he wished to high heaven he hadn't. Last nights thoughts had been disturbing enough; he really didn't want them to continue. But there Charlie was, licking his spoon almost pornographically, and Carlisle couldn't help but stare. He barely remembered food, it was true, but he could swear that no pudding was _that _good. So good that you had to have every last smudge of it in the cup and on the spoon, and oh, God, why wouldn't he just _stop_ with the tongue…?

"Carlisle?" Alice said.

"Hm?" he said, not turning for Charlie.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You're driving a bone into your leg." He looked down.

"Er… that's funny. How did that get there?" He tossed it behind his shoulder and turned to smile at her. She blinked a bit bemusedly, but said no more. Carlisle fought not to look at Charlie for the rest of the morning.

xXxXx

The rest of the day was almost okay. Until Bella had suggested that they go swimming. Damn that child. Carlisle hadn't even considered that swimming might be a problem until they were all down at the water, laughing and having fun, playing at a 100th of the speed to let Charlie catch up. Carlisle had played for a while, too, but had retired to the shore to relax for the first time in what felt like months.

"Hey, Carlisle," Charlie said, coming to lie down next to him. Oh dear God, why? Carlisle though.

"Hey," he said cheerfully. "They tire you out?" Charlie laughed.

"Yeah, I felt bad about slowing them down." Carlisle dragged himself up to lean on his elbows so he could make eye contact. Bad idea.

As a cop, Charlie would be in good shape. It made sense. Carlisle had just never thought about it until now. It's not like he was _really_ fit, but enough that it wasn't painful to look at him when he was only wearing swimming shorts. It certainly wasn't painful. Carlisle tried to stop, he really did, but his eyes followed a drop of water roll down Charlie's neck, over his collarbone, and down his chest, and when he realized that he was staring at Charlie's stomach, he snapped his eyes back up to where they should be.

"You all right, Carlisle?" Charlie asked, looking at him suspiciously.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Why?" If his voice came out a little more choked than usual, he didn't acknowledge it.

"You just look kind of… flustered. I don't know, your eyes are really wide. Are you… you people sensitive to the sun?"

"Uh… yes," Carlisle lied unconvincingly. "Yes. And, you know…" Another drop of water when gliding down Charlie skin. "I've been under a lot of stress at work, lately. That's all." Did his voice crack? No, that was… something else. Yeah.

"Tell me about it. Those bear reports a few weeks ago, and now people keep calling them in 'cause they're paranoid… making me crazy. I've been working later than ever," was what Charlie said.

"Blah blah blah blah blah blah, you totally want me, you nut, blah blah blah," was what Carlisle heard.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Yeah."

"Seriously," Charlie said, "Are you all right?"

"Absolutely."

xXxXx

After another dinner where Charlie looked like he was felating his cutlery, Carlisle wanted to kill something. So he went hunting for tomorrow's breakfast. The thrill of the hunt, the bloodsong of killing something, though, seemed to sharpen the lust, and he came back to their camp in a worse state than he had left it. He looked down at his hands as he tried to read a magazine he had brought and realized that they were shaking.

"Hey, Carlisle, did you know that you can fit 1,500 Earths inside of Jupiters core?" Charlie said, reading the book of random facts Bella had gotten him to assist in watching Jeopardy.

"I want you," Carlisle said.

"Well, that's kind of a non sequitur."

Carlisle lunged as gently as he could, so he didn't break Charlie, and kissed him.

"Hmm?" Charlie asked, and Carlisle answered by sliding his tongue into his mouth.

"God, you've been making me crazy, with your eating, and your sleeping, and your swimming," he whispered against Charlie's mouth.

"If I've been annoying you, you should have just-" but Carlisle cut him off with another kiss, pinning him against the ground. Carlisle's mouth moved to his neck, sucking and licking and trying really, really hard not to bite, because Charlie smelled pretty good, just like his daughter, and was that where she got it from?

"Or we could do that," Charlie gasped, making a small sound in his throat when Carlisle pushed his shirt way up and ran his hand down the bare skin. Carlisle made a pathetic keening noise and ground his hips against Charlie's. Now he knew how Edward felt.

"Aren't you married?" Charlie asked. He was far to coherent for Carlisle's liking, and a hand pushed roughly into his shorts told him that.

"Shut up," Carlisle demanded, and the only sounds Charlie made for the rest of the night were low and desperate animal sounds.

xXxXx

"Grandpa, watcha doin'?" Carlisle rolled over and squinted in the sudden sunlight flooding the tent. A small shape cast the only shadow. Renesme.

"Um… " He looked down at his arm around Charlie's naked waist, at Charlie snuggled against him through a sleeping bag.

Bella came chasing down her child, lifting her into the air.

"You leave your grandpas—oh, dear God," she said, seeing the inside of the tent.

"Um… " Carlisle said again, as Edward came to see what his wife was doing.

"Oh, dear God."

Yeah, it's been a while. Sorry. I'm not sure I'm happy with this one. I feel like it's not as good as the others, but that's all right. It's really late. I'm going to get ice cream.


End file.
